Love times 5
By Cedar1
Inspired by the French film 5 times 2 by François Ozon. It's an amazing film and my story is of the same lay out and some of the plots and ideas are also from it. So this is a BIG DISCLAIMER to them so please don't sue me.
And of course one to JK Rowling for the characters
A/N well it's been a while hasn't it. – and there was me gloating about how I had nearly finished it. But some gremlin must have been hearing, entered my computer and eaten through my system cos I lost all of it and am having to start again from scratch. Grrrr!
NE how here we go (again!) hope yall like it!
Chapter 3: Neither believed his words
His warmth crept over her like an extra blanket. They were lying next to one another in bed. His chest pressed against her back, his long fingers drawing winding designs on her swollen belly.
"What do you want?"
"A baby."
"No you idiot. It's a bit late even if you didn't. No. What I meant was, boy or girl."
His fingers stopped as he thought about his answer.
"To tell you the truth, I don't care, as long as it's healthy. Boy. Girl. Squib."
He got a pinch on the arm for that last comment and in return she got a throaty chuckle.
"I don't care. I really don't. I thought I would want a boy. You know, to continue the Malfoy name and all but..."
"But?"
"All I want is a family."
Hermione's next breath caught in her throat and she placed her hand above his own. He nuzzled his head further into the crook of her neck and dragged her body closer into his. Soon the bedroom was filled with Draco's snores and Hermione's laboured breathing. However unlike her husband she wasn't enjoying a dreamless sleep but was wide awake, a past memory replaying in her head keeping her from sleeping. She had thought about telling him, getting it out of her system and into the open. Spilling everything that was so tightly wound up within her. But the possible consequences kept her from opening her mouth and telling him the truth. The other possibility was to obliviate herself so she wouldn't have to continue living with it but in her condition it was risky and she wouldn't do anything to harm the baby.
The baby.
The thought made her smile. It would make things right again. To carry a baby that was made by the two of them, then to be able to love it and hold it. It would remind her that she loved him and only him, and all those treacherous thoughts that hid in the corners of her mind and her heart could be forgotten.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Hermione perused over the contents of her fridge. Crumbly cheeses with fruit filled one tray, traditional mature cheddar and salty feta lay side by side on the next and at the bottom her favourite, Stilton. Hermione reached out for the yellow cheese streaked with blue veins. This had been her craving. Cheese, of all varieties, of all colours and textures; by itself, no bread or biscuits for her. Looking around the kitchen Hermione found the knife she was looking for. She licked her fingers in anticipation. Draco always made sure they were well stocked.
What happened next would be remembered only as a blur.
The grip on the knife suddenly loosened and the steel blade clattered to the floor. Within the next second Hermione was on the ground, her head bent over and her hands over her stomach. She felt like she was being pummelled by fists. Bang. Bang. Hitting her over and over again, relentless and unforgiving. She screamed till her voice was hoarse and her throat burned, but no one came to her rescue. Her fingers were wet, slick with a warm liquid. A red flower was blossoming on her white night dress. Petals growing and spreading whilst she cried.
"No. No. No. No. No"
She shook her head from side to side.
She barely remembered the fire coming to life in the kitchen and the horrified look on her best friend's face.
All she could think was... "No."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Work was shit. Forms and letters littered his desk. The ministry was in chaos, still. The war had ended years ago but the paper trail it left was never ending. Draco threw the newest memo into the bin and held his arms in front of him, stretching his cramped muscles.
"Mr Malfoy. You have a Ginny Weasley waiting for you." The nasal tones of his secretary cut through his lethargy.
Weasley?
Why did she want to speak to him?
Hermione.
Fear and worry flooded through his insides and twisted them into tight, tangled knots. All the saliva in his mouth evaporated away and his tongue stuck to his palate in a way that he could barely utter his next words.
"Transmit her through."
The younger Weasley's face began to appear in the mirror on his table and her tear stained cheeks were enough for him to know.
"I'm so sorry Malfoy."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The angry flames licked the sides of the marble fireplace, every so often spitting out a used bit of coal on the priceless Persian rug that graced its side. Draco watched the threads sizzle underneath the hot ember. Little puffs off smoke acting as the carpet's distress signal. Although his mother would probably be turning and twisting in her grave at such disrespect Draco didn't care, not for that patch or the other ten that charred the antique. Soon the offending piece of coal disintegrated into a pile of white ash, the heat having finally got to it, and it died right in front of him.
That's what he felt like. Like a used bit of charcoal that could no longer contain the burning that was eating him up from the inside out. However unlike his friend the coal he couldn't just die, he had to cope with the emptiness that now resided within him. On hearing about Hermione's miscarriage he had experienced an onslaught of raw emotion. Pain. Pity. All of which should have seen him running to be by his wife's side. But then they were countered by feelings of anger and dare he say it relief, and it was those that saw him apparating to the abandoned rooms of Malfoy manor.
Anger.
At the higher powers.
At Hermione.
And at the root of all of this was...
Relief.
Explaining this was hard. It made him stutter and stumble in his mind. He had wanted the baby no doubt. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Pink and warm, curling at his touch. A child who would carry something of him long after he was dead.
Yet at the same time there was the nagging feeling that this child was not borne from love, well not completely. For somewhere thrown in the mix of things was guilt. Her guilt about what he did not know. He could sense it when he slept next to her in the night, when he knew she was watching him even though he had his eyes closed so tight it hurt. She let slip on occasions talking about how a baby would make things right again. Again? It was that word that made the cogs in his head turn. When had it all turned wrong? What was there to make right?
What had she done?
And that's what made him angry.
What the fuck had she done?
What the fuck had she done that she was too scared to tell him?
What the fuck had she done to screw him over?
He didn't want a baby to make things right.
The tumbler that was held in his hand went flying into the fire. Shards of glass rebounded off the back of the fireplace; some began glowing in the fire, while others littered the floor around him. Pieces everywhere. Broken. Shattered.
Fixable?
Well yes with a touch of magic and a flick of a wand. But his marriage wasn't a simple glass that could be mended with a quick spell. The cracks could not just be resealed and forgotten about. And it was this knowledge that left him cold. He leaned back into the age-old armchair, letting his body sink into the worn leather, not quite ready to face what awaited him.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"Where is he?"
"Where is he?"
Ginny could only hold her best friend tighter, rocking her in her arms. Sweat and tears soaked through her cotton shirt and the skin on her neck.
"Where is he?"
"Where is he?"
"Shhh." Her hand going round and round in circles on Hermione's back.
"I can't. My baby."
Ginny closed her eyes. She couldn't cry. Someone had to be strong. Someone had to be strong. She had to keep repeating it in her head again, and again, every time Hermione let out another whimper, moan, scream. The room was suffocating her. The weight of anguish and heartache pressed down on her from all directions, slowly breaking her apart. All she wanted to do was crawl into a corner, curl up into a ball and place her hands on her tummy and pray that nothing like this would ever happen to her. It was a nightmare of hospital beds, bloody sheets and healers saying how sorry they were. And all around them were ghosts of a baby who would never exist, who would never grow old and who would never know what it was like to be loved.
Ginny held onto Hermione even tighter. The line dictating who was giving strength to who becoming even less distinct.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The corridor seemed endless, the sign saying Maternity Unit never getting any closer. Draco looked down at his feet. They weren't moving. Black, expensive shoes planted on pale pink tiles. He looked up again and he could just about make out a head of red opposite a head of jet black hair. The two men were on the floor, their backs on the walls, their faces buried in their hands. Never had he wanted to run in the opposite direction so much. To get out into the open and run away from his present and future. He was a selfish bastard. He knew it. Everything he did was in his best interest but for the next few days, perhaps years he had to contend with the fact he wouldn't always get his way. And he couldn't just sulk in the corner or call on 'Daddy'. He had to deal with it, to play the cards he had in his hands. The people he had depending on him. The person who needed him to lean against. He had to at least try to be a better man than his was, to be the man that Hermione believed him to be.
His feet began to move in assured strides. His mouth pulled into a line of grim determination. Harry and Ron having heard his heavy steps got up. The Weasel was already bounding towards him, his right arm ready to throw the first punch.
"Took your fucking time didn't you Malfoy."
Draco simply turned to face him and said, "I've just lost my baby."
The other man's shoulders slumped and for the first time in their lives something passed between them. An unspoken apology and an unspoken word of thanks.
"She's in there Malfoy."
Harry pointed to the door on the left.
Draco entered the room and took his wife from the arms of the other woman.
"I'm sorry Draco."
"I forgive you, Hermione."
And she cried even harder.
But the problem was neither believed his words.
A/N Thanx to the lovely guys who reviewed the last 2 chapters:
a, OHsnap, raine8, professor-fidget, w1cked angel, Amortentia, faiya, lemon5225, jesska-14, Gnomie022, colorguard06
This was a really hard one to write. I'm not too sure about my characterization it's hard trying to have them be in love but still retain their personalities? It either becomes overly fluffy or just doesn't make sense. Urg!
So if uve read it please review it, let me know what you think, it does the heart good...
PS i promoise things get a bit lighter from now on.
Luv Cedar1